Burning Question

Well, many GOPers are talking about working together to actually address issues. Of course, there are f***heads like Frist who can’t see past their own ideology to contend with, and jerkweeds like Hayworth who are on the Bush uber alles train to hell, but maybe we can have a partisan detente for a little while. Bush needs to work on his “legacy” now that he has sucked up to the tighty righties for re-election., and honorable legacies require more than knee jerk acceptance of marching orders from Pat Robertson and Chevron constituencies.

I think we, as fair minded individuals who politically oppose Mr. Bush have got to be in “get along” mode now. He was elected this time. He also got a majority of the votes, which hasn’t happened since Poppy made Dukakis his Willie Horton bitch. So, sack up like we did during Reagan and Bush Sr. Don’t be bitter, because he didn’t do it with fraud and friends in high places this time.

Frankly, 4 more years of Bush may be good for Dems in ’08. There will be plenty to fix, no confidence in GOP “leadership” and enthusiastic receptiveness to a sea change in how we conduct ourselves at home and abroad. Based on the last 4 years, the budget will be totally fucked up, the deficit will be 3 quadrillion dollars ($3,000,000,000,000.00), 10,000 American troops will be dead from insurgency in Iraq, 50,000 draftees will be dead in Iran and Syria, and California will be floating in the Pacific after Kim Jong Il lobs a couple of nukes at the San Andreas fault.

At home, heterosexual marriage will be mandated in the constitution, along with a duty to procreate. Blogging will be scrutinized by the DHS and bloggers locked up for posting “Bush is still a bonehead.” As far as the economy… wait, somebody is knocking at the – pounding at the dooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

” Do you remember “, he said, ” the thrush that sang to us, that first day, at the edge of the wood ? ”

” He wasn’t singing to us “, said Julia. ” He was singing to please himself. Not even that. He was just singing. ”

The birds sang, the proles sang. the Party did not sing. All round the world, in London and New York, in Africa and Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond the frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villages of the endless Russian plain, in the bazaars of China and Japan – everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable figure, made monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death and still singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of conscious beings must one day come. You were the dead, theirs was the future. But you could share in that future if you kept alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed on the secret doctrine that two plus two make four.

” We are the dead “, he said.

” We are the dead “, echoed Julia dutifully.

You are the dead “, said an iron voice behind them.

They sprang apart. Winston’s entrails seemed to have turned into ice. He could see the white all round the irises of Julia’s eyes. Her face had turned a milky yellow. The smear of rouge that was still on each cheekbone stood out sharply, almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.

” You are the dead “, repeated the iron voice.

” It was behind the picture “, breathed Julia.

” It was behind the picture “, said the voice. ” Remain exactly where you are. Make no movement until you are ordered. ”

It was starting, it was starting at last ! They could do nothing except stand gazing into one another’s eyes. To run for life, to get out of the house before it was too late – no such thought occurred to them. Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice from the wall. There was a snap as though a catch had been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The picture had fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.

” Now they can see us “, said Julia.

” Now we can see you “, said the voice. ” Stand out in the middle of the room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind your heads. Do not touch one another. ”

They were not touching, but it seemed to him that he could feel Julia’s body shaking. Or perhaps it was merely the shaking of his own. He could just stop his teeth from chattering, but his knees were beyond his control. There was a sound of trampling boots below, inside the house and outside. The yard seemed to be full of men. Something was being dragged across the stones. The woman’s singing had stopped abruptly. There was a long, rolling clang, as though the washtub had been flung across the yard, and then a confusion of angry shouts which ended in a yell of pain.

” The house is surrounded “, said Winston.

” The house is surrounded “, said the voice.

He heard Julia snap her teeth together. ” I suppose we may as well say good-bye “, she said.

” You may as well say good-bye “, said the voice. And then another quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which Winston had the impression of having heard before, struck in; ” And by the way, while we are on the subject, Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head ! ”

Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston’s back. The head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-shod boots on their feet and truncheons in their hands.

1984, George Orwell

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